I'm Not Gay!
by UndoneChaos
Summary: Craig has a point to prove.


**Disclaimer: Don't own South Park**

I've never been a fan of school. I've never been a fan of anything, to be honest. Red Racer held interest for a while, but I grew out of that kiddie show by sixth grade. Stripe? He was a favorite. I loved feeding him after school, watching him run on his cute little wheel and munch adorably on his food pellets. Yes, I'll admit to thinking something was _adorable._ Anyway, yeah. I used to have fun with Stripe. Sad, how things leave your life without asking you first. But everything starts dying the day it's born. So no more Stripe.

Anyways, back to school. I never really liked it. I used to hate sitting in those cheap plastic desks for 6+ hours 5 days a week, exceptions for holidays. I used to despise staring at that broken chalkboard, never loved our teachers' droll voices. I especially hated the lunches. They were OK while Chef was our, well, chef, but when he… Died? Yes, that's it. He died and the Super I'll Rape Your Kids Club turned him Darth Vader. I don't even watch Star Wars. Anyway, once he died, we got a replacement chef. She was old, fat, _always_ had a fucking obvious camel toe… I shudder at the thought of it. Her food sucks ass. Literally. Once it jumped off of Cartman's tray, ran up to Token, and started munching on his butt. Just Kidding. South Park may be weird, but not _that_ weird.

Sorry. Getting off topic. Anyways, I used to hate school. Used. But something that happened a few months ago changed all of that. I started my sophomore year at South Park high, hit puberty, all that jazz. Let me tell you personally, puberty sucks. First, it decides to give you zits. Very unattractive ones. Then, it says, ''why don't I make this poor person's voice really high and retarded?'' and does just that. Except not for me. Lucky enough, I didn't go through the awkward cracking voice stage. Unlucky enough for me, my voice stayed the same. The same nasally monotone that puts everyone to sleep. Finally, the stupid thing gives you what us dudes call… OK, never mind. I'm not gonna call them that. That's just fagaliciously disgusting. I'll call them… Dreams That Us Dudes Get For No Absolute Reason That Make Your Mom Hate You For All Of The Sheets She Has To Wash Everyday. Or wet dreams. Ug, why do they have to be called _that_? It's the perfect description of gross.

I actually don't mind doing laundry. Not that I have to do it everyday! I just do because I want to. I guess that's the one thing I'm a fan of. Laundry. Once I fell in love with this kid because he could say whatever he wanted to whenever and not get busted. I did his laundry for him, like, everyday. Laundry relaxes me.

Dear Lord I'm getting off topic. So what were we talking about? Oh yeah. Wet dreams. Nasty! Any-fucking-way, I started getting those. Just because puberty wanted to be a bitch to me. And apparently, _just because_ puberty water to be a bitch to me, it conspired with my brain. So you wanna know what my stupid dreams were about? Not hot tits, not pussy or fucking some girl's brains out like Kenny does everyday. No. They were about Clyde. Clyde! I don't know why, I really don't. At first I refused to believe it was because I was crushing on my, as girls say, 'bestie'. But after you have dreams about the same person more than… 10 days in a fucking row, something's up. Every time I'm near him now, I get all… Butterfly fluttery and shit like that. Every time I see his smile I want to fucking kiss his perfect lips. Every time he bends over I think about pounding his ass. Gross, right? That's why I despise school now. Not hate, despise.

I'm not gay. Jesus, if I ever told _anyone_ about my dreams and thoughts, they'd tell me I was in denial. Fuck denial! This is just a god-damned fluke. And that's why when Clyde, with his perfect fucking teeth and perfect jock-built body and fucking perfect hair, came up to me and asked if he could stay the night, I said yes. To prove a point. I'm not gay for fucking Clyde fucking Donovan. And that's what I'm going to prove.

The parents will be gone. The little bitch Ruby will be too. God, I hate her. She may not know _directly_ that I'm crushing on my best friend, but judging by how one day she came up to me and said, "So… Last night you were dreaming about pounding Clyde's ass, right? Don't lie. I heard you through our paper-thin wall. Just like every other night since about a month ago", I figured that she figured it out. That little shit. I'm so glad she'll be gone this weekend, along with my bitch homophobe dad and my, well, I won't be glad mom's leaving. She's as nice as anyone in our family could get. And she probably totally can hear my dream-talk too, judging by her 'I accept gays' speech once.

I can't even remember what I was trying to say. Oh, yeah. Nothing.

"So, Clyde. Dude. What'dya wanna do?" I asked in my nasally monotone. I was currently sitting on my pink-as-shit and very worn couch, listening to my old, blue iPod nano through one earbud. The song playing was "Flesh" by Simon Curtis.

I'm not gay.

"Oh, you know. I don't care. We could–" he stopped mid-sentence to stare intently at the earbud in my ear and then glance at the iPod in my hand. "What'cha listening to?" he asked curiously, leaning closer to me. Not good, Clyde. Stay your distance. I have hormones that are currently going bat shit crazy right now, and you don't want to be near them.

"Nothing", I said nervously. Clyde noticed that I wasn't telling the full truth right away, and grabbed the earbud that wasn't currently in my ear, putting it into his own. He listened for a while, eyes getting wider at each word. Yay, explaining time! Oh, don't worry, Clyde. I don't want you to push me into, y'know, a wall or something and make my ass bleed as you fuck me dead, I just like this song!

"Dude", he said, staring at me with wide eyes as the earbud fell out of his ear. It was kind of a comical event, but this was not the time to laugh. I looked at him, feigning 'what the fuck are you talking about?'.

"What ever do you mean?" Oh, real smooth. You're supposed to act like you don't know what he means, not like you do but are pretending you don't!

"I love that song!" he said casually. Oh Jesus, Donovan. Leave it to you to be my death with a heart attack.

"Yeah…" I was still skeptical of the whole thing. "It's a good song–"

"It's gay as shit, though. Never knew you were a twink, Tucker!" Oh, I want to fucking punch you, stupid as swipe! So much for not having to explain.

"I'm not gay!" I tried to protest, but my voice came out very small and quiet. Grr. "I'm not a fucking, twink, ok?" I spat, gaining back a little bit of my dignity before it decided to run away again when Clyde moved his face closer to mine.

"Too bad… You'll never be able to tell your grandkids that you fucked a jock in high school." What? Wait, wait, wait. WHAT?

"U–" I opened my mouth to ask him what the fuck his little prick of a comment was for, but I was cut off as he collided those perfect lips with my own, cracked ones. Wasn't expecting that, Donovan. What're you planning?

"Clyde", I tried to get a word in edgewise, but opening your mouth while kissing someone who obviously had their own point to prove was not a good idea, considering that as soon as my lips parted, Clyde shoved his tongue in my mouth. Not fair! I'm trying to prove my non-gayity! The way you do that is by _not_ Frenching the guy you keep having wet dreams–shudder, again–about until you get hard! It's funny how my body thinks it loves this buttpipe, because my brain obviously doesn't.

All of a sudden, Clyde pulled away with a smirk. "And I have proven that you are a gaymo, Tucker", he laughed. I reached up with my hand and wiped my mouth with the back of it, staring at Clyde with what I hoped was 'what the fuck' but was probably 'do it again or I'll sock you in the jaw'.

"But, assrammer, doesn't that make you one too? You just, like, practically fucked me!" I said, trying to act tough and find a loophole in his logic. He just smirked again.

"Yes, but I already knew that", he said, and leaned in to kiss me again. Oh, hah. Smart logic, dickface. I'll just have to prove to you that I'm not at the _receiving _end of this. I kissed him back with equal determination, forcing his mouth open with mine and slipping my tongue into him mouth. Oh, try to fight back, Clyde, just go ahead and try. I pushed him back into the couch, never breaking our lip contact as I snaked one of my hands up his shirt. I ran my thin fingers up and down his chest, smirking as he arched into the touch. I swept my hand over to where his nipple was and pinched it, receiving a gasp in response. And I'm proving my point, now, gaybott. I might still be a poofter, but I don't take it up the ass.

I pulled my hand away and he whined, but the whine turned into a moan as I dragged my fingers over his growing erection. Let's see how you like it now! I pulled my hand, which had been holding Clyde's wrists over his head, down to meet my other one, and I slowly and teasingly unbuttoned and unzipped his pants. Glancing up at him with a twinkle of evil in my eye, I pulled down his pants and boxers with one swift movement, letting his dick free. This action made him sigh in relief, and I smirked. Still staring at him, I grabbed his cock and started pumping. Now, I've never done this, but judging by the noises Clyde was making, I was doing a good job. But I still had a point to finish proving, so I pulled my hand away.

"Hey!" Clyde said, slightly aggravated, face flushed pink. I rolled his eyes at him and got up, just enough to pull off my own pants and boxers. I still had my blue shirt on though, and my hat was also surprisingly intact. I held out three fingers to him and practically shoved them into his mouth. He swirled his tongue around them expertly, and I wondered briefly how many dudes' fingers he had sucked on before dismissing the thought with 'he probably just fingers himself all the time'. Great, that thought made me even harder. Now it hurt. I pulled my fingers out of his mouth and moved them down to his ass, brushing them against his entrance. He shivered and arched into the touch, and I took that as a 'go'. Gently pushing my middle finger into him, I watched his face to see how he was doing.

He looked down at me in slight discomfort, and I whispered for him to relax. When I felt him do so, I pushed my second finger into him. The slight discomfort on his face turned into a look of 'ow, that hurts'. I stilled my fingers, waiting for him to tell me to go. He looked at me, tiny tears glistening in the corner of his eyes. I felt a pang of sympathy for a few seconds, but his nod of 'I'm ready' brought be back to reality. I gently pushed my last finger into him, scissoring him. All the while I watched his face, the tears still glistening in his eyes, his brown hair hanging in font of his eyes. My fingers brushed up against a certain bundle of nerves and I watched as his eyes went wide, a moan escaping his lips. I grinned and pulled my fingers out of him, laughing when he whined at their absence.

I positioned myself above him, my dick brushing up against his ass. "Ready?" I asked, praying to whatever dairy was up there that the answer would be 'yes'. My dick was so hard it hurt, and I needed release. Clyde looked up at me, eyes shining from under his hair, and he nodded. "OK", I said, and to save him the pain and me the fucking impatience, I pushed my cock to the hilt in his ass. This made him scream, and I was so glad that our house walls were thicker than the one that separated my and Ruby's bedroom, or someone might have thought I was trying to kill him. He was so tight! Jesus Christ, I prayed to the last sliver of sanity in me that I wouldn't just fuck him to death right then. Hovering over him, I was surprised that my arms hadn't started hurting yet. I locked my eyes to Clyde's and sent him a silent message, which was greeted not a minute later with a nod. I slowly pulled out of him just a little before slamming back in. This action actually caused him to bounce on my dick, which I found way sexy. I soon found a rhythm as I grabbed his legs, hiking them up so they were resting on my back. He reached up and grabbed my hat, pulling it off before weaving his hands into my silky black hair.

"Harder!" he begged, looking absolutely vulnerable and sexy underneath me. I complied, pushing into him harder. My dick brushed up against his prostate any he screamed, throwing his head back in ecstasy. God, he's so hot.

"Fuck!" he cried, arching himself into me even more, if that was possible. "I–" He looked hesitant to say the next words, but come on dude. I think you're embarrassing moment thing has passed, don't you? He raised his head lightly, only to throw it back as I hit his prostate again. "Craig! Oh, god… Fuck me harder! Make me your dirty whore! Please!" Oh, now we're talking dirty, are we? I hit his prostate over and over again, digging my fingernails into his hips. He didn't seem to care.

"But didn't you know, Clyde? You've always been my dirty whore", I whispered. I'm pretty sure the voice that left my mouth wasn't ever mine. I didn't recognize it. It was so lust driven I couldn't even begin to comprehend.

"Then make me a bigger one! Fuck me dead, oh please!" I rammed my hips into his, each movement I made making him bounce underneath me. I pushed harder, faster, until I was sure that if I tried to go any harder and faster, I would, like, explode or something.

"Oh-oh-oh-oh-oh! I'm gonna– I'm gonna–!" I cut him off by grabbing his dick with one hand, the other one roaming his every curve. I pumped him in time to my sporadic thrusts. I could feel the tightening in my stomach signaling that my release was soon to come. I pumped into Clyde, hitting his prostate one more time, and then we both came in unison.

"CRAIG!" he cried, arching his chest up into mine. I shook from my post-sex high as I rode out our orgasms. I glanced down at him as I pulled out, collapsing on top of him out of exhaustion. I laid my head on his chest, my breathing matching his. His fingers wound through my hair, and his eyelids drooped. I grinned at him, once again showing my totally fucked up teeth, before falling

°…°

"Honey? What is this white stain on the couch?" my mom was in our living room, tidying up. I blushed for a second before answering her.

"Whipped cream, ma. Whipped cream",I said, before walking downstairs.

Mrs. Tucker walked around the living room, pleased with her son's answer, until realization hit her. "We don't have any whipped cream…"

**I am pleased with the entirety of this story. I am very pleased. Hope you liked it, and didn't think it was too long.**

**Ciao for now**

–**Chaos **


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